


laid to rest

by perfchan



Series: it's you that's haunting me [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Established Relationship, Happy Sex, Horror, Humor, M/M, No longer dudebro!Lance, Still punky paranormal enthusiast! Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27933052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: They don’t come back the same...Because now Keith and Lance are officially engaged.And honestly, it’s great. Keith is great, Lance is great (obviously), and there’s no shortage of the supernatural to keep them occupied.There is this one rainy morning though. That Lance gets a troubling text message. It ends up leading them somewhere unexpected.*A little thrilling, a little gratuitous, and a little bit of a conclusion. The very last words of a not-too-serious ghost hunting au.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: it's you that's haunting me [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/941781
Comments: 56
Kudos: 174





	laid to rest

**Author's Note:**

> like all good horror movie franchises, I don't know when to quit. Just keep on writing sequels when none are needed lol. But still! I hope you enjoy:

***

There’s the soft sound of rain. The downfall outside their bedroom window makes for a low, constant hum, punctuated every now and again with the slosh of a car driving through the apartment complex parking lot. 

Keith’s hand is warm and his touch firm as it drags up Lance’s bare stomach to his sternum. Feels nice. Lance nuzzles his face into his pillow, lost in that early morning place between sleeping and wakefulness while Keith’s hands wander over his body. The sun isn’t bright enough in the sky to intrude into their bedroom, not with the dark rain clouds low in the sky. He opens his mouth slightly, ready to tell Keith off for waking him, except for, not really. Because it feels good, and he doesn’t mind. But Lance drops back off before the words come, anyways. Keith kisses the tops of his shoulders and Lance slips closer, closer to sleep. 

He’s comfortable enough that he doesn’t register the way Keith is gripping his thigh, nor the press of his body flush. It’s not until Lance feels Keith slipping inside him that he really shifts into consciousness. 

Keith must feel the change as he tightens from sleep into wakefulness. His hands are still solid, still holding Lance just so, but he pauses. "Lance. Did I hurt you?” 

His chest is up against Lance’s back and the words are low and gravely against Lance’s neck. 

Lance relaxes, and Keith slips a little deeper. They both let out quiet sighs.

"No," Lance manages, finding the word through the haze of sleep and sex. He’s still loose from the night before and Keith is always more gentle than he needs to be. Especially in the morning when they’ve just woken up. His lips twist into a sleepy smile. “No, jus’ startled me is all, ah-” 

Keith plants a kiss on the back of his neck before tightening his grip. He pulls Lance’s hips back, fucking Lance on his cock until he’s fully inside. 

“Mmm, fuck yeah,” Lance agrees. He stretches an arm back to tangle in Keith’s hair. Keith’s hips work, slow and rhythmic. His face is buried against Lance’s back, and Lance can feel the heat of his breath as he gradually increases pace. Lance wraps a hand around himself. He pumps in lazy, unhurried strokes, eyes closed again, not quite as heavy with sleep as they were before. 

Hips stuttering and fingers clenching, Keith exhales a soft gasp against his skin. Lance tips his head back, close enough to Keith to feel the warm pound of his heart. A moment passes, both of them lingering there. Then, Keith’s hand slides, almost lackadaisical, from Lance’s thigh to between his legs; he replaces Lance’s hand with his own. Lance can feel his mouth pull in concentration where it’s pressed against Lance’s skin. Keith holds Lance close, jerking him to completion in just a few practiced motions. 

He holds Lance close after too: going soft inside him, arms now wrapped around him, lips still resting right where Lance’s neck becomes his shoulder. 

“Keith.” Lance skates the pads of his fingers over the knobs of Keith’s knuckles, catching along the edge of Keith’s engagement ring before he knits their fingers together. He thinks that he hears the rain outside the window coming down harder. Black, Keith’s cranky cat, pushes the door open and pads across the room to jump up into bed with them. 

“Mn?” Keith asks. He’s hugging Lance tight, their bodies bowed together like a single side of quotation marks. 

Lance isn’t sure what he’s about to say. ‘Good morning,’ maybe. Because, that’d make sense. Or ‘How’d you sleep, babe,’ or ‘What time is it,’ or any other of the wholly banal things he’s said to Keith without thinking so many mornings before. Whatever it is, Lance lets the question hang unsaid. Keith is holding him so tight. He shifts, breathing deep against Lance. Keith’s nose is smushed into his spine, like he’s trying to kiss his way closer. 

The moment feels too fragile; words would break it. There’s just the rise and fall of their chests in tandem. 

Except then it does break: a notification from Lance’s phone clips through the stillness. 

Keith slips out with a grunt, steady hand squeezing Lance’s hip before he rolls over. Lance follows, sitting up on one elbow to watch Keith rise from bed. Keith’s alarm clock (a terrible relic of Keith’s life before the two of them started dating— the noise it makes is something straight from the darkest depths of hell), says it's after ten am, but the overcast sky outside lends the room towards darkness. He watches Keith shuffle on a pair of Lance’s boxers— blue ones, flung in the general direction of the closet the night prior— and root around in the pocket of his leather jacket.

Once his current pack of Reds and lighter has been found, Keith looks at Lance watching him. 

“Be right back,” he says. His voice is scratchy— not just with sleep? 

Lance tilts his head. Narrows his eyes. 

But Keith is out of the room before he can say anything. Black gives Lance a nasty look (Rude! What did Lance ever do to her?!), before following Keith out to the patio for his morning smoke. 

Spread out like a star on their bed, Lance considers whether the oddly fragile embrace and the scratchy voice are Keith-being-Keith or Keith-being-weird. (And whether there is truly a difference between those two things.) He is not considering very hard because he falls back asleep. 

“Lance! Lance. Wake up. It’s me, Keith. LAN—oh you’re awake.” 

Lance waves a hand over his head. The rain makes for good sleeping weather. Plus, it’s still too early. He likes to think of himself as a morning person, but not without—

“Coffee,” Keith says, holding a mug out to him. He waits while Lance shimmies to a sitting position before handing it over. 

It’s warm and strong and in Lance’s favorite mug, the one with the little blue stars. He takes a lovely first sip and it tastes exactly as it should. Fuck yeah. 

Keith slips back into bed next to him, about to lean over to retrieve his own mug from the nightstand. He pauses when he hears Lance inhale, 

“My darling, my angel,” Lance begins. He sees Keith roll his eyes so he increases his volume: “The center of my being, my _raison d’etre_ , the pumpkin to my spice, the—” Keith puts a hand over Lance’s mouth; Lance bites him. “MY BEAUTIFUL FIANCÈ!” He bellows, while Keith tries to push him off the bed.

Lance attempts to scoot out of range. (This is one of the many reasons why they need to upgrade from his old queen-size mattress.) He manages. Mostly, because Keith gives up the attack. 

“What Lance? What is it?” 

“Thanks for the coffee, babe,” Lance says, smiling sweet. He plants a kiss against Keith’s jaw.

Keith draws back, inspecting his fingers, likely trying to see if Lance managed to draw blood. (He didn’t.) “You’re welcome. Are you done now?” he asks with half a smile over his lips. 

“Are you?” Lance challenges, as though that is a valid response or actually makes sense. 

Keith shrugs, gulping down a sip of his coffee. He looks tired. 

“Dude, are you okay? Did you sleep alright?” 

Keith ducks his head, eyes shifting to the side. “Yeah, fine.” He adds as an afterthought: “Don’t worry.” 

Which basically means that Lance needs to fucking worry. 

“Keith—”

The chime of his text notif goes off again. 

Lance ignores it. “You—”

And again. 

“Okay,” he says, reaching over Keith’s lap to grab his phone. “Who is—”

It’s Allura. Lance frowns. He’s practically laying across Keith’s lap, so Keith can see the screen. 

“Allura?” Keith asks, very mildly intrigued. “What’s she saying?” 

Lance sits up, sitting back on his side of the bed. He and Allura have been friends for a long time, but they’re not _close_ -close. Kinda weird to get multiple messages from her so early in the day. He opens the texts: 

**From Allura** : Good morning, Loves! Lance, I saw something rather fun on my morning jog and I couldn’t help but think it might intrigue you. Perhaps you could…

Lance punches the home screen button on his phone, minimizing the texts. And, more importantly, the attached image. He did _not_ just see what he thinks he saw. No. She. Did. Not. Allura! Really?! 

Keith lifts his brows, like, _well?_

Lance gives him a brilliantly innocent smile, like, _nothing!! Nothing to see here, nothing at all!_

Keith is not impressed. “Lance…” 

Taking a deep breath, Lance closes his eyes. “Keith.” He says. Might as well get it over with. “Listen closely. This is very important.” 

Keith regards him with serious, dark eyes. 

“Actually,” Lance says, slowly. “I have something to tell you.” He sets his phone down in his lap, very stoic. “I’ve been in love with Allura the whole time. We’re having an affair.” 

Keith snorts. 

Lance ignores this. “She just said to me, Lance, my darling, run away with me. And I said to her, Princess,” 

A _giggle_ breaks from Keith’s mouth. He bites his lip, jaw clenched, fighting back a smile. 

“Princess! I said,” Lance continues, undeterred, not smiling, not at all, “Loverboy Lance will take you to a galaxy far, far away,” 

Able to contain it no longer, Keith bursts into a fit of laughter, shoulders shaking. The kind of laugh where all his fillings are visible and his laugh lines are deep and his eyes get all scrunchy...

“What?! This is no time for laughing Keith!” Lance squawks, “Keith!!! I’m trying to tell you all about how I’m cheating on you!” 

Keith shakes his head, wipes tears out of his eyes. He lets himself fall against Lance. Close enough that his bedhead tickles against Lance’s neck. “Holy shit, Lance, I needed that. Thank you.” He chuckles again. “Seriously, what’s going on.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Lance says, snide, swiping his phone out of Keith’s reach before he gets any ideas. 

He’s too slow. 

Lance does his best to escape, but Keith is fast and strong. Deceptively so. The blankets go flying, the pillows are used in violent ways, the fitted sheet undoes itself from the corner of the bed. It’s all for naught. Keith swings a leg over Lance’s lap— he has Lance pinned to the bed in a matter of minutes, basically, at this point, sitting on his chest. 

He takes the phone out of Lance’s hand. 

“I shoulda told you that she is actually an alien,” Lance mutters. “You would’ve probably believed that.” 

Keith tilts his head. He’s still sitting on top of Lance. “It’s more likely, yeah.” He taps in Lance’s passcode. Thumbs across the screen. “Oh.” Tilts his head the other direction. “Huh. Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

Lance sighs. 

Well. Fuck. 

*

**From Allura** : Good morning, loves! Lance, I saw something rather fun on my morning jog and I couldn’t help but think it might intrigue you. Perhaps you could use it in one of your videos? I know you’re always looking for new places to explore! 

**From Allura:**

**From Allura:** Isn’t that funny! Totally NOT haunted, makes one wonder, doesn’t it! At any rate, I hope you’re both doing well, loves. By the way Lance, let me know when you’re free for a shopping date. The next VIB sale is coming up! 

*

It's no big.

Really. 

Psh. 

A house? 

Just….a random house?

There is _no way_ that some little dinky neighborhood house is gonna be any sort of spooky revelation. For Lance and Keith? Ghostbusting partner extraordinaires? The best damn cameraman _ever_ and his fucking gorgeous fiancé? The two most successful youtubers on all of youtube (well. Give or take a few million subscribers— but who’s counting)? The intrepid, the charming, the devilishly handsome, the fearless, the stunningly beautiful? 

Like, just last week they explored an old coal mine: 

A fucking _abandoned_ mine. Deep in some creepy ass woods.The two of them had to hike to get there— Lance is staunchly anti-hike now, please refer back to the previous installment in the adventures of Keith and Lance, ghosthunters, for his reasons as to why— so _that_ was bad enough, but then. The mine itself looked like something out of a bad amusement park ride— by the way, Lance is against amusement parks too, if you didn’t remember— all the mine was missing was a skeleton with a mining helmet near the door holding a sign that said ‘Turn Back Now.’ The wooden frame marking the entrance of the mine was decayed, bits of uneven lumber broken off unnaturally, sticking out of the ground in heaps like the carcass of something long dead. There were tools, rusted and old, lying just inside the entrance, as if whomever worked at the site left in a hurry. The mine itself was deathly still, quiet, so quiet. They went inside, climbing down into the earth, where no living soul had been for over a decade. Keith was wearing a little head lamp like the enormous dork that he is. 

“Is there anyone with us?” Keith asked the damp, damp dark. 

A chill crawled up Lance’s spine. Something shifted in the shadows just out of sight. Something big. Something darker than a shadow. Something…

Okay. 

Nope. 

“Keith! THERE IS SOMETHING THERE. Did you see that, tell me you saw that, what the _fuck_!” 

Keith held his hand out, trying to silence Lance. Somewhere, deeper in the dark, the sound of something moving. 

“Ke-ke-ke-keith!!!!” 

“We’re not here to harm you—”

“Dude, what makes you think we can harm it? It’s here to harm _us,_ fuck this, we need to leave,” 

“Come closer to this little red light, if you can,” 

“Nope! Nopenopenope!! Keith! Don’t like this— fuck, something touched me— Keith!!!” 

“Lance, will you! Be! Quiet! What if it’s trying to contact us?!” 

The feeling of breath, putrid and hot, curling over the back of Lance’s neck. _What the fuck is that?_

“Well, Keith,” Lance said, panic in his throat, spinning around waving his flashlight over the walls of the narrow mine shaft, _what the hell, where is it,_ “if you’re so excited to talk to this thing, why don’t you ask _him_ to marry you?” 

A sigh from Keith.

“Yeah,” Lance said. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Oh.” Keith said. “Oh!” 

And Lance’s stomach sunk. Because he knows that ‘Oh.’

“There’s something on the thermal cam. Lance, come look at this.” 

Spoiler Alert: there was indeed something on the thermal cam. A whole lot of somethings. A group of figures. Approaching Keith and Lance from the dark depths of the mine. Lance watched, horrified, as they came closer, 

And closer, 

And nope. Nope again. Nope a whole bunch. Fuck this. 

He grabbed Keith’s arm and practically dragged him out of the mine. 

Just moments before the tunnel collapsed. 

Yeah. _Collapsed._

As in, Lance and his flawless skin and perfect sense of humor and flaming hot bod were almost buried underneath a bajillion tons of mud. Forever and ever. 

Let it be known that no amount of Lotty’s french toast, no matter how delicious it may be, will give Lance those seconds of his life back. His entire existence flashed before his eyes. He thought he was a fucking goner. 

And Keith was just excited to play the footage back! 

Sigh. Lance really knows how to pick ‘em, doesn’t he?

So. Yeah. 

A little neighborhood house? Compared to that?

How bad can it be? 

*

"I'm gonna throw up,” Keith wheezes, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched into fists, “Lance, I’m gonna throw up,” 

Lance shoots him a look. “Wait. Really, dude? You’re really gonna hurl? Is it my driving?” 

They’re in the car en route to 2389 Paradise Lane, a.k.a the location of the Totally Not Haunted house. The Backstreet Boys are on the radio and it’s turned up loud because Lance loves a throwback. The weather is beautiful. Lance is driving. 

“Yes,” Keith grits out. 

“Really?” Lance looks at his dash. He’s under the speed limit. Still, he slows down. The Backstreet Boys advise Lance and Keith to rock their bodies right. Lance turns the volume down ever so slightly. Gives Keith a nervous look. Keith hardly ever has bad car days anymore, but, 

“No,” Keith admits. His eyes are closed. “No, it’s not your driving, actually.” 

“Well, _thanks,_ ” Lance says. But Keith doesn’t even so much as smirk at the sarcasm. “Then what?” Lance asks, but Keith doesn’t answer. He really does look green around the gills. Lance takes the next exit. Hastily, pulls into a QuikTrip gas station. Shifts to park. Cuts the engine. 

They have an appointment to meet the realtor to do a walk-through of the house. They’re on time. (It seems that nearly all of the appointment slots were open, so they had their choice of times. No idea why that would be.) It’s not really that far of a drive. There’s no reason for Keith to be car sick. 

Now that they’re parked, Keith has unbuckled his seatbelt in favor of doubling over in the passenger seat. He has his head almost between his knees. Lance rubs his back in soothing circles. 

“It’s okay, babe.” Lance tells him. Keith shudders out a breath. “That’s right, just breathe,” he says, rubbing Keith’s back. Through the glass doors, Lance eyes the brightly colored snacks inside the gas station. “Why don’t I get you a Reeses, huh?” 

Keith makes a garbled noise that doesn’t answer the question. 

Lance’s hand slows to a stop. Chocolate doesn’t help? Weird. 

Keith looks up at Lance through messy bangs. He did do his best to style his hair into more of an actual style than the normal topknot that he wears when he doesn’t want it down around his face. The ponytail is cute, but unusual for Keith. Even more unusual: Keith is wearing what he would term a ‘formal event button down.’ It’s not his shirt; it’s Lance’s. (It’s too tight around his chest and arms, mouthwatering. It’s too long for his torso, adorable.) They don’t normally swap clothes, but Keith’s wardrobe is limited when it comes to ‘fancier’ stuff. He’s borrowed this shirt from Lance before: the last time that Lance saw Keith wear this navy blue button down, it was to meet his parents. 

Keith was a nervous wreck before that. All sweaty and jaw clenched and monosyllabic. 

And today, Lance just noticed, the sleeves of the shirt are buttoned at his wrists. That, combined with his fingerless gloves, means that only the two tiny tattoos between his upper knuckles on his middle fingers are visible. All the rest are covered. 

Keith reaches for the stud in his ear to turn it, but he took out a few of his piercings prior to the trip today. That’s when Lance realizes: 

He’s worried about meeting the damn realtor for the house. 

“You don’t need to be nervous, Keith.” Lance reassures him. He really doesn’t; first of all, they’re not trying to impress anyone. It’s not like they want to buy this house for real. This is just to get a feel for the location. And even if they did plan to make an offer, they wouldn’t take any shit. Second of all, Lance is right here. 

Oh yeah, Lance is _right here_. And he has an idea. 

“Actually,” Lance grins. He bats his eyes. “Come with me to the bathroom?” 

“No. I’m alright.” Keith heaves in a breath. Sits up. Looks at Lance’s face. Frowns. “I don’t have to go,” he says slowly. Narrows his eyes. “We just left the house. Lance,” 

Lance gives his thigh a decisive pat. “Come with me anyways.” 

Which is, 

Which is _exactly_ how Lance ends up on his knees in a gas station bathroom, with Keith’s dick in his mouth. 

“Fu— hahh, La-nce,” Keith has shoved the knuckles of his index and middle finger in his mouth, but he continues to groan around them. Lance hollows out his cheeks, bobs his head, ignoring the way drool is dripping down his chin. Keith’s shoulders fall and he runs uncoordinated fingers through Lance’s bangs. The snowy gas station music is drowned out for a moment as one of the employees tromps into the stock room next to the men’s room. 

“Mm,” Lance hums in agreement, swirling his tongue around the crest of Keith’s cockhead. He pulls off— the obscene pop bounces off the mildewed tile under his knees. Lance gives the underside of the sink— a ghastly thing— a definite side eye as he drags his tongue in a sloppy line up the length of Keith’s cock. The things he gets himself into—

It’s worth it though. When Keith is breathing heavy, eyes squeezed shut, one hand now scrambling at the wall behind him. His thighs quiver— he’s wearing his _nice_ jeans, usually the ones reserved for date night, and damn does the dark denim look good hugging his thighs— his hips jolt, 

“Lance,” Keith gasps, 

Lance swallows him down, nose buried deep in Keith’s dark curls. He can feel Keith twitch in his throat as he comes. His eyes water. 

It’s worth it. It’s so worth it. 

Lance struggles to keep the grin off his face as he stands back up. Keith is just….slumped there, his back against the wall of the bathroom, eyes shut. Chest rising and falling, noticeably winded. And, now— Lance would bet money on it— not thinking about meeting the realtor. 

His fingers twitch as Lance gets all up in his space and zips up his jeans. He opens his eyes when Lance tugs him to a standing position using his belt loops. 

“Less tense now?” Lance purrs close to his ear. He doesn’t wait for the response, instead, he licks a wet kiss into his ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“Ack! Lance! No!” Keith huffs. “I mean, yes, but no! Don’t do that!” He might be protesting, but he’s smiling now, one that reaches all the way into his dark eyes. 

“Don’t do what?” Lance asks, pretending to be very confused. He makes a show of kissing loud and ridiculous over Keith’s neck, his jaw. It’s not all for show— Keith looks good in Lance’s button down. The way the collar is open, just barely showing the hollow of his neck, 

“You know!” Keith accuses, putting a stop to it. He makes some minute adjustment to his jeans, smoothes down his shirt. Takes Lance’s hand and squeezes it. 

That’s a thank-you. Loud and clear. Lance has been speaking Keith long enough to understand. He squeezes back. 

Keith clears his throat. “We’re running late now.” 

“Fashionably,” Lance says, turning the lock of the bathroom with a snap. He’s not worried about the time. They both lean out the door and breath a simultaneous sigh of relief that there’s no line of people waiting outside. That’d be awkward. “After you, babe,” Lance says, cheerily. 

He’s not at all surprised that Keith makes a beeline for the candy aisle before they head back to the car. Peanut butter cups in hand, they continue onwards. 

*

The infamous yard sign— totally _not_ haunted house— greets them on the corner as Lance turns onto Paradise Lane. It seems to be a quiet neighborhood. Nice. The houses are neither extremely old nor very new, not especially big or nor exceedingly humble. Large maple trees dot the yards. A couple of evergreens too. There’s a gray sidewalk that looks like it’s seen a few harsh winters, but it’s still in decent shape despite the cracks and weathering. 

Keith taps a cigarette from his current box and puts it in his mouth, then thinks better of it. “This looks nice,” he says, taking it out from between his lips. Rolls the cigarette in his fingers, brows furrowed as Lance drives slowly down the street. 

Lance raises his eyebrows. “Dude, really?” 

“What?” 

Lance does his best imitation of Keith: “ _This looks nice,_ ” he repeats in a croak, overdone scowl on his face. “You said that like it’s a death sentence.” 

Keith makes a face, either at Lance’s impression or his accusation. “This is the one,” he says in reply, thumb jutting out to point. 

2389 Paradise Lane turns out to be a red-brick, ranch-style home, set further back from the street than the surrounding neighbors. It has an attached garage, a large portrait window in the front. A blue front door. Two smaller bedroom windows, dark, dot the brick on the opposite side. 

“It’s cute!” Lance decides. Smaller than he expected, but not spooky. 

He pulls into the driveway, behind the white SUV that’s already parked in front of the garage door. Lance’s spirit is bright as he hops out of the car. This place might not be terrifying after all! 

Keys jangling in hand, Lance shoots Keith a smile over the top of the car, “Who knows, Keith, maybe—” 

The driver’s door opens on the white SUV. The realtor’s taupe heels hit the cracked pavement of the driveway in quick succession, _click clack._ She smiles broadly, hand outstretched and already approaching Lance. 

“Mr. McClain!” Her blonde curls bounce over the shoulders of her blazer. She smiles, lipstick fresh and flattering as she shakes his hand. “Oh, it’s so nice to put a face to the name, isn’t it!” 

The fuck is she talking about? Lance has contacted her exactly once: one phone call. It was less than five minutes long, just to make the appointment to see the house today. “Oh, for sure,” he agrees. He catches Keith’s eye; Keith is giving the woman a look like he expects her to pull a knife out of her perfectly tailored J.Crew pencil skirt. 

“And this must be your husband!” She turns her attention to Keith, absolutely beaming. “I’m Kathy,” she tells him, quickly walking to his side of the car. She clasps his hand like an old friend. “Kathy Lutz. So nice to meet you,” 

“Keith.” Keith says, shortly. He’s looking at her hands like he’s never seen a human appendage previous to this moment. When she doesn’t let go immediately, he gives Lance a panicked look over her shoulder, like, _save me._

“So!” Lance says, too loud. “The house—”

“You’re going to love it!” Kathy declares. She clickclacks back over to her car, pulling out a handbag that looks designer and from that, an iPad. “First of all,” she begins, clearly slipping into selling mode, “I’m sure you noticed, but isn’t the neighborhood _gorgeous_? Location, location, location!” 

Lance follows her, hiding a smile at Keith’s off put expression. “Yeah, really nice. Love the landscaping.” 

“That’s so good that you mentioned that, Mr. McClain, because,” 

“Call me Lance,” Lance hums. Keith is staring at the padlock on the door while the realtor unlocks the house key. He’s clearly out of his element. This is going to be fun. 

“Lance,” Kathy beams. “Wonderful. We’ll take a look at the outside of the property later, of course, but it does have a lovely yard. I’m not sure if you and your husband are thinking about kids yet, it’s never too early, but the school district here is simply wonderful. Very highly ranked. And there’s a public park not far, not far at all. Are you and your husband the outdoorsy type?” 

Lance titters. The mention of kids has Keith looking like he might throw up, for real this time. “I don’t know. Honey bunches,” he elbows Keith, “What would you say? Are we into the great outdoors?” 

“Uh.” Keith blinks. At a loss, he shrugs. 

“We _looove_ the great outdoors,” Lance declares with way too much enthusiasm. 

The last time they spent any kind of time outside— well, beside the fucking haunted mine— it was because Keith wanted to film at video at a purportedly cursed mausoleum. It did not go well (meaning: the video turned out excellent; Lance screamed a lot and generally had a bad time). 

Kathy takes it in stride, saying something about backyard barbeques. Lance tries not to laugh at Keith’s flummoxed expression. Now that she has the house key in hand, the realtor sweeps the front door open with a flourish. “After you!” 

The door opens into the living room with the portrait window in the front. Everything looks clean and fresh— clearly painted recently. Past the living room, there’s a small dining room, and from there, Lance can see into the kitchen. To his left, a hallway with bedrooms and the bathroom. It’s cute. 

It’s not scary at all. 

“I’m sure you remember from the listing,” Kathy says, walking in behind them. She fiddles with the door but doesn’t close it, for some reason. “But the property is move-in ready.” 

“What happened to the last owners?” Keith asks. More like: demands to know. 

“All of the hardwood floors are original,” Kathy says. She must not have heard him. 

“Nice,” Lance says, peeking down the hallway. It’s a small place, but cozy. The bedrooms, there’s just two, are small, but not bad. Plenty of room for Lance and Keith and their cats. All of their filming equipment could go into the second bedroom, they could use it as an office. And the master bedroom has more than enough space for their current furniture. 

Kathy takes them through the house, her heels clickclacking over the Original Hardwood Floors. The bathroom’s been recently remodeled. So has the kitchen. The front window— gorgeous isn’t it? — faces the southwest and has lovely afternoon light. The crown moulding in the dining room is a trademark feature of the house’s design, not many of them were made like this. 

“Where does this lead?” Keith asks, hand on a doorknob. 

Lance stands from where he’s been peering into the backyard. Kathy wasn’t lying; there’s a lot of space out there. The maples give a pleasant cover of shade over the lawn. The previous owners built a pretty substantial deck. It leads into the yard right from the kitchen. He can picture a grill. House parties with Hunk and Pidge and Shiro…

“Oh that?” Kathy pauses from her happy stream of information. She swallows, giving Keith a hesitant smile. “That leads into the basement.” 

Keith looks at Lance. 

Lance frowns, pursing his lips,

“I-it’s unfinished,” Kathy says. “The washer/dryer hookup is down there, and it does add some nice square footage, of course, but,” She pokes at the tablet she’s been using. “Lance, Keith, I am so, so sorry about this, but.” She holds up her phone, her french tip manicure catching in the afternoon light. “I just got an email. I have a call that really cannot wait. Howabout this? You all can take a quick peek in the basement and I’ll make my call. If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them in just a bit when you’re finished.” 

Keith has his eyes narrowed. “The basement,” 

“No prob, Kathy,” Lance says, cutting him off. “We’ll take a _quick peek_ and then see you soon.” 

She’s gone before the door opens. 

Keith and Lance are left standing at the top of the stairs. 

There’s a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Lance reaches up and tugs the chain, illuminating the stairway down. The stairs are covered in a green carpet, ugly and matted. The foot of the stairs still rest in a pool of darkness. 

Keith starts walking down. 

“This place isn’t creepy at all, huh, Keith?” Lance asks, keeping close. It’s just a normal house, 

It’s just a normal house, 

And this is just a normal basement. 

“I think we might have finally stumbled on a dud, what do you think, babe?” Lance asks, one hand on Keith’s wrist. He can’t explain why, but he’s suddenly freezing. All the hair is standing up on the back of his neck. 

At the bottom of the stairs, there’s a lightswitch. Keith turns it on and three bare lightbulbs flick to life overhead. As the realtor said, the basement is unfinished. Cement floors, a utility sink on the back wall. Some shelves for storage. It’s empty. 

“Totally normal,” Lance says, breathing a sigh of relief. 

The door at the top of the stairs slams shut. 

“Fuck!” Lance jumps a mile at the abrupt sound. 

Keith grins. Like he was waiting for it. “Let’s come back tonight with our stuff.” 

* 

And so, 

About, oh, nine hours later, Lance and Keith are standing outside 2389 Paradise Lane for the second time that day. 

It’s somehow… _less_ cute in the dark. 

The second time around, Keith has ditched the button down. He’s now wearing his well-worn black leather jacket and a thread-bare v-neck. His hair is loose around his face— the way he likes it best— and his piercings are back in their rightful places in his ears, lips, and nose. Naturally, he’s still wearing his fingerless gloves. 

Lance shoves his phone deep into the front pocket of his hoodie. At least twitter is excited for their most recent shoot. Their fans are insatiable. Keith hands him one of their cameras and he checks the battery and memory cards. 

“What’s the plan, man,” Lance hisses. They parked a street over, just in case. The house is very dark. Lance looks to either side, checking the closest houses for lights on or windows opened. No one is around. The neighborhood is quiet. But it can’t be _that_ quiet. Crowbars might be good for abandoned movie theaters and the like, but here? They’re gonna get the cops called on them. 

“Breaking and entering is a thing,” Lance swears under his breath as Keith marches right up to the front door. 

It’s dark but it’s not so dark that Lance can’t make out the withering look that Keith gives him as he reluctantly joins his fiancé on the porch. 

“I’m not breaking and entering,” Keith protests. “See?” 

He’s holding up what looks like the remote control for their Roomba. (The robot vacuum cleaner was Lance’s idea— Keith would have never spent the money— but now they both love the little sucker.) He hands it to Lance. Lance squints. What the fuck? It _is_ the remote control for the Roomba. 

Keith pulls Lance close, breath hot over Lance’s face as he whispers: “Earlier, while we were inside, I secretly planted some of Pidge’s tech. That will control it.” 

“You did?” Lance looks at the small black control in his hands. It’s true that Pidge is a genius of the highest order. He still doesn’t know what they do for a living, though. 

“Yeah,” Keith says, quiet, taking the remote back from Lance. “Just one press of this button. And hundred— no, thousands— of nanobots will activate. They’re going to open the door for us.” 

“They are?” Lance asks, frowning. Nanobots? Huh. Wow. 

He peeks in the window of the front door. He’s so intent on watching— what do nanobots look like anyways— that he almost doesn’t notice that Keith’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth. 

“Keith.” 

The smile gets wider. 

“Ke-” 

Keith coughs, hiding his mouth behind his hand. 

“I fucking hate you,” Lance says, tackling him to grab the stupid remote out of his stupid hand. 

Keith is laughing so hard that he doubles over, leaning against the porch railing. “Nanobots,” he wheezes, and starts laughing again. 

“How should I know what Pidge does!!!” Lance demands, in a loud whisper, smacking his shoulder. Honestly, he should just leave. Honestly. “They could have nanobots!!! Keith!” 

Keith is laughing so hard that his shoulders are shaking and he’s not making any noise. A tear slips out of his eye and he swipes it aside before swatting at Lance to let him stand up. 

“You watch too many movies,” Keith tells him, once he regains his breath. He gives Lance a lopsided smile. 

Lance crosses his arms. “Who is the one who has seen every episode of Mysterious Mysteries of the Unknown, like twelve times? Who spends hours on the ‘dark web’ reading about moth man or some shit? Who, _exactly_ , has checked out every book in the library even remotely related to the paranormal?!” 

Keith doesn’t answer, so Lance continues, 

“And you wanna say that I’ve watched too many movies? That’s rich, Keith, so rich. Who is it that—”

He stops. The door swings open. 

Keith holds up the key. 

“It’s not breaking and entering if we have the key to the front door,” he explains, 

(Which, probably, is not an argument that would hold up, legally speaking,) 

(Regardless,) 

“How did you get that?” Lance sputters. He puts up a finger in warning. “Do not bullshit me right now, Keith,” 

Keith holds up the padlock on the door, like, duh. 

The realtor twisted the combination to open the padlock, and inside the padlock, is the house key. Keith shows Lance. “I was watching when Stacy opened it before.” 

“Stacy?” Lance asks. 

“Yeah, the realtor lady,” Keith says, like Lance has missed something pretty important. 

Lance cannot. 

He shakes his head. 

He turns the camera on. 

Follows Keith inside. 

* 

“Welcome back to our channel,” Keith begins. 

Lance has already gotten some nice shots of the layout of the house. They also set up two stationary cameras. One looking down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms, the other at the top of the stairs, facing into the basement. 

“I wasn’t able to dig up much about this property,” Keith admits to the camera that Lance is holding. “The house we’re standing in was built in 1956. Prior to that,” he says, walking backwards through the empty room, “This area was all farmland, sectioned off to various owners.” Keith’s boots clunk heavy over the hardwood floor. 

The house is quiet. Still. Very little light shines in through the large portrait window in the living room. Outside the sky is cloudy as though it might rain again. 

“The previous homeowners neglected to comment, although we do know,” Keith’s low rasp is warm and curling against the silence, “that the house has been vacant for several months. Police reports and newspapers give no reason as to why.” Keith wets his lips, looking into the camera lens. “But maybe we’ll find out tonight.” 

It’s a promising opening, one that their viewers will definitely appreciate. The two of them spend a bit of time going from room to room, Lance’s high tops squeaking and Keith’s boots clunking, scoping out a place to film for a longer stretch of time. Compared to the run-down, near-decrepit locations they usually find themselves, this is really is paradise, Lance thinks. It’s past midnight and all is still. 

Outside, the rain starts coming down. 

“We should start in the basement,” Keith decides. “Earlier that’s where there seemed to be the most activity.” 

“Why did I know you were going to say that?” Lance slumps over, running a hand through his hair. 

Keith smirks. “Probably—” Keith stops mid-thought. His eyes dart to Lance, but Lance is already holding up the camera. 

“What was that?” Lance asks. He heard it too. 

A low wail, drawn out and lingering. Lance’s hair stands up on his arms. 

“It’s the wind,” Keith realizes, walking over to the window. “Didn’t know it was supposed to storm this bad,” he comments, under his breath. 

Lance tugs his phone out of his jeans pocket. The weather report shows a small chance of rain, but hey, the weatherguy is always wrong. It’s whatever. 

“Scared of a little rain, Keithy?” Lance asks him. He knows that Keith doesn’t give a single fuck about the weather. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “All of our gear is fully charged so it shouldn’t be an issue. Let’s go downstairs.” 

They don’t turn on the lights this time. The staircase seems much longer in the dark. The wailing of the wind is muffled here. The only light is from the screen of Lance’s camera and the little red dot on Keith’s EVP recorder. 

“At our initial visit,” Keith tells the camera, “We did experience a possible paranormal phenomenon.” He describes the door shutting of its own accord earlier that afternoon. “And so, now I pose the question: who is down here with us tonight?” 

Lance feels like he’s holding his breath. 

Nothing. 

Not so much as a drip drop from the water faucet in the corner. 

He exhales. 

They wait. 

“Why did you slam the door when we were down here before?” 

Keith is patient. After a significant pause, he asks another question: 

“Are you angry that your house is being sold?”

...

“Did you drive the previous homeowners away?” 

Nothing. 

Nada. 

Zilch. 

Lance’s eyes have adjusted to the dark. The water heater is a familiar shape in the corner. None of the shadows seem out of place. 

After endless questions in what now seems to be a very un-haunted basement, Lance slumps over. “Maybe he’s camera shy?” 

Keith looks disappointed. 

“Don’t worry, babe,” Lance slips an arm around him, giving his hips a little tug, “I’m sure we’ll hear some real fucked up shit in post.” 

“Maybe,” Keith pouts. 

“Let’s head upstairs,” Lance suggests, trying not to seem too happy about it. Everything is so quiet and normal. This is the best-worst night of filming they’ve had since, well, maybe, ever! 

Keith agrees with one last forlorn look down the stairs as they make their way back up. 

They try again in the bedrooms. And then the kitchen. Still, nothing. 

Though the wind outside seems to only be getting stronger, the house is peaceful. It’s been well over three hours of absolutely fucking nothing. 

“Weeeell, Keith,” Lance says, plopping down to sit smack dab in the middle of the empty living room. “Maybe we just broke into a random house to talk to nobody at all?” 

Keith sits down next to him. “Maybe we did.” 

“It was kinda fun though, wasn’t it?” Lance pulls his knees up and settles his arms on top of them, leaning forward to look at Keith beside him. “Meeting with the realtor? Pretending to be adults for a day?” 

“We _are_ adults.” Keith replies, smile twitching over his mouth. 

“Homeowners, Keith!” Lance says, flinging an arm into the air for emphasis. He lays back, feet splayed out, the hardwood floors unforgiving against his shoulder blades. Outside the rain is coming down and the wind is howling, but in here, it’s quiet. 

“You didn’t correct her when she assumed that we were already married,” Keith says, soft, not exactly looking at him. 

Lance’s eyes trail up the curve of his spine, the tension in his jaw. Keith has his hands in his lap, index and thumb gently turning the engagement ring on his left hand. Lance studies the ceiling, speckled white. There’s no overhead lighting, so they’d need lamps. He doesn’t hate lamps. 

“Hey,” Lance says, touching Keith’s elbow. He motions for Keith to lay down next to him. 

Keith does, with a slight shuddering breath. Shoulder to shoulder, there on the floor. Together. 

“Can you picture our couch along that wall?” Lance asks, pointing. 

Keith’s head turns, following Lance’s motion. “It would fit,” he says, quiet. 

“There’d be enough room for Red and Black’s cat tree there,” Lance points. “And, I’m thinking, the tv right there.” 

He looks over at Keith, but Keith’s eyes are closed. 

Keith sucks in a deep breath. “I can’t really imagine it,” he admits. He turns his head, looking at Lance. “It doesn’t seem real.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Huffing out a laugh, Keith looks away. He shakes his head. “I, um. Y’know. The house thing.” Wets his lips. “Once a foster kid, always a foster kid, I guess.” 

Lance stays quiet. He’s been with Keith long enough to read a pause from an ending. 

“I never, uh.” Keith shrugs, frowning at the ceiling now. “Shit, Lance. I never thought I’d be getting married. Buying a house. Having a f-family. That was stuff for other people.” 

“But now it’s stuff for you, Keith,” Lance says. He lifts his hand to touch the inside of Keith’s wrist. Fingers careful and sure as they slide into Keith’s palm. 

Keith spreads his fingers, welcoming as Lance knits their hands together. He lifts Lance’s hand, kissing the back of it before he turns to Lance. “I keep having a nightmare,” he says, voice too steady, like he’s concentrating on sounding strong. 

“About?” Lance asks. He can guess about what. Keith is very rarely scared. When Keith doesn’t answer, he tries, soothing, “I would never leave you, Keith.” 

Keith shakes his head. “If we fight,” he smiles, correcting himself, “ _When_ we fight, we’ll work it out. But in the nightmare,” the smile drops away from his face, “You’re hurt and I can’t get to you.” 

Lance swears under his breath. He knows where this is coming from. Damn haunted woods. Damn creepy shack out in the middle of nowhere, filled with demon shit or whatever! Fucking with Keith like that. 

Lance squeezes Keith’s hand as hard as he can. Bruising and rough and right-here-in-this-moment-I-am-here-and-you-are-here-and-we-are-together. “I’m stronger than I look, y’know.” 

“I know, I know,” Keith says, but he still sounds off. “I know it’s stupid. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it.” 

Lance thinks back to that morning, how Keith held him so tenderly. The emotion in his voice. He did tell Lance, sort of. In a Keith sort of way. The speckled ceiling overhead doesn’t have the answer for the right thing to say, nor does the howling wind outside. 

“Well,” Lance decides, still hand in hand with Keith, “Maybe it’s a good thing?” 

“Excuse me?” Keith huffs.

“You’re excused,” Lance responds, automatic and snide. He shifts, bumping Keith’s shoulder with his own. “No really, babe, listen. I worry about you too, y’know.” 

“You do not,” Keith says, half laughing. 

But Lance is serious! “Rude! I fucking do too, Keith!” He could list off a million examples of how and why and when, but that’s not important. “And since we’re both worrying about each other, that only means that we’ve got each other’s backs. So, we’ll be good. Partners. Like we have been. All this time so far.” 

Lance sits up, leaning over Keith. Keith looks up at him, eyes pulled wide in the dark, full and open and honest. It’s one thing, to realize how deeply you care about a person. To think, ‘he’s it for me.’ But it’s something else entirely, when you can read, so clearly, how much that person cares for you. Keith looks up at him there, hair mussed and spread around his face, forehead bare to reveal his widow’s peak and cowlick, dark brows lifted, mouth soft. He looks at Lance. Vulnerable. In love. 

Lance leans over him, kissing him. He brushes the hair away from Keith’s face, gently touching his cheek, running a thumb along his jaw, burying his fingers in the curls at the nape of Keith’s neck. 

Keith opens his mouth with a soft sound, lifting a hand to touch Lance’s shoulder. He slides it to the back of Lance’s neck, pulling him closer, lifting his own shoulders off the floor. 

The kiss is slow, gentle. There’s no tease to it, no doubt, no rush. No push, no pull. Just a sweet give and give and give. 

The rain outside has stopped. The house is dark and calm around them. It feels like they’re the only two people in the world. 

Lance isn’t sure when it stops being kissing and slows to just Keith holding him, just the two of them, noses touching, breaths in sync. But it does and Keith is looking at him. 

“Should we go home, Lance?” He asks, quiet. 

“We didn’t get much usable footage,” Lance says, just above a whisper. He kisses Keith again, a sweet kind of kiss that becomes a smile. “Won’t be much of a video.” 

Keith smiles too, ducking his head. “That’s okay.” He presses his lips to Lance’s cheek, like he can’t bear not to, before he stands, helping Lance up. It feels complete. Like an ending. The house might not have scared them, but they accomplished something here. Maybe something more important than a new video for their channel. 

“I’ll remind you of that when we’re editing,” Lance replies, bumping Keith with his shoulder. Keith shakes his head. 

They just need to pack up their gear and lock the house back up, then they’ll be on their way. It’s not how their shoots usually go— typically Lance is cursing his life by this point— but he’s definitely not complaining. 

Keith starts dismantling the stationary cam that’s facing down the hallway. The bathroom is at the very end of the hall. The door to the bathroom is half open. 

“Hey, how weird would it be if I went to the bathroom real quick?” Lance asks. The drive back to their apartment isn’t super long, but it will definitely be more pleasant if he doesn’t have to piss the entire time. 

“Uh.” Keith juts his chin out. “Sure. I guess.” He shifts. “Want me to wait here?” 

“Nah,” Lance says, waving him off. It’s already late. It’ll be good to get back on the road as soon as they can. There’s one more stationary cam at the top of the basement stairs. That’s across the house, off of the kitchen. “You grab the other tripod and I’ll meet you in a second.” He walks down the hall. 

The bathroom was recently remodeled, the realtor said. It’s small, but squeaky clean. A sparkling white bathtub. Obviously brand new toilet, directly across from the sink. Lance flicks the lights on (because it feels strange not to), does his business, turns and washes his hands. 

The mirror over the sink might be original, Lance decides, checking out his reflection (he looks hot, as always, by the way). It has too much character to have come straight from the home improvement store. And it’s chipped on the bottom edge. There’s a hand soap next to the sink— which makes him feel better about randomly using this bathroom— Lance rinses his hands, turns the taps off. He gives himself a wink in the mirror. Hits the light switch. 

And sees another set of eyes next to his in the mirror. Looking at him. 

Lance screams. 

The figure— standing just behind him— smiles. 

Lance scrambles away, swearing. He knocks over the soap, and in his panic, trips and falls ass first into the bathtub. 

The thing looks too solid to be an apparition. Lance can make out a dark silhouette against the door. The white of eyes. The stretch of a smile. It steps closer, 

“Lance!!” The door opens and Keith bursts through. “Lance— are you— what,” 

“Fuck-Ke-Keith,” Lance manages, heart beating wildly in his chest. The shadow was directly where Keith is now standing. “I— you,” 

“It’s okay,” Keith reassures, moving forward to help Lance up, “Just calm down,” 

Pointing wildly, Lance screams again— because a lock of Keith’s hair is slowly lifting above his head. Like someone unseen is playing with it. 

Keith turns, the hair drops. “What—”

And he goes pitching forward into the bathtub. He lands over Lance. 

“It pushed me!” Keith is shouting, 

“Fucking fuck, oh my god, what the _fuck_ ,” Lance is hollering, 

The two of them are a mess of limbs , legs half hanging out of the bathtub, half not. 

Outside, there’s a crack of lightning. 

It illuminates a figure standing in the middle of the hallway. Looking at them. 

The flash of light is gone; the figure disappears. 

The house quiets. 

“Lance,” Keith starts, “We should,” 

Across the house, there’s the distinct sound of the door above the basement stairs slamming shut. 

“Keith.” Lance untangles his arms from where they’re trapped under Keith’s weight. “If you think for one _fucking_ minute,” 

A crash of thunder outside, 

“That I am going back into that basement,” 

Keith sits up. “We’re already here…” 

“You have got another thing fucking coming, Kogane!!!” Lance shouts. Keith’s hands are on his hips. He’s on his feet now. Both of them standing in the bathroom. Looking out down the hallway into the rest of the house. 

“I wish we hadn’t already taken down the hallway camera,” Keith says, sullen. 

“Fuck you,” Lance says, both to Keith right now and also the house in general. “Fuck you and fuck that.” 

The front door is just a hallway away. Lance just needs to leave this bathroom, walk past the two bedrooms, through the living room, and then out the front door. He can do this. They can do this. They can leave. 

“You with me?” Keith asks. His hand is on Lance’s wrist. 

“Yeah,” Lance breathing in deep. You would think that he’d be used to his heart hammering in his chest. That the shot of adrenaline from terror might lose its potency. That’s not the case. At all. “Okay, Keith. Let’s go,” 

Together they step out of the bathroom. 

The house is still as they walk down the hall. But it doesn’t feel peaceful anymore. It feels charged. Like something is with them. Just out of sight. 

And then, 

Lance notices, 

“Keith,” Lance swallows. Tears pricking his eyes. “Did you--”

The camera that was positioned at the top of the basement stairs is on the floor in the living room. It’s sitting right where they were talking before. The lens reflects towards them, a glint in the dark. 

Lance already knows the answer to the question he’s asking: 

“Did you leave that there?” 

“No.” Keith confirms. “I heard you scream before I got the chance to move it. It should still be near the basement.” He bends down to pick it up. Hands it to Lance. 

It’s still recording. Lance’s hands are shaking. He scrolls back to review the footage. 

A sob escapes, 

He almost drops the camera. 

“What?” Keith grabs it. Frowns as he takes a moment to understand what he’s seeing on the tiny screen. When he sees what startled Lance, the blood drains from his face. 

There’s video of the two of them. It’s impossible...the way it’s shot. It’s of them in the living room. When Lance was sitting down. Keith sat next to him. Lance and Keith watch, horrified, the footage of them laying on the floor. Talking. In the video, Lance sits up, leans over Keith, kisses him. 

“It’s been watching us,” Keith breaths. 

Lance doesn’t want to know what happens next. He jams the off button. “Yeah, well,” he’s having a hard time putting the words together, “Yeah, no, I’m—” 

Out of the silence rises a metallic, haunting pitch. Coming from all around them, coming from outside. It’s jarring and strange. And loud. The wail gets louder— almost deafening— and then drops off, not quite inaudible. Then slowly rises, harsh timbre climbing, almost shrill as it gets louder again. Lance’s skin crawls, 

“Tornado siren,” Keith realizes. “The storm,” 

“Oh fuck this,” Lance spits, “Oh, fuck _this._ ” He digs his phone out of his pocket. His hands are trembling, but he managed to unlock the screen. 

Sure enough, there’s an alert: 

**“Tornado Warning: Take Action!** A tornado has been sighted or indicated by weather radar. There is imminent danger to life and property. Move to an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. Avoid windows. If in a mobile home, a vehicle, or outdoors, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris. Warnings are issued by your....”

Eyes smarting with tears, Lance blinks. He breathes out. “Keith.” Keith looks up from his own phone. “Keith, I’m gonna be honest here. I miss the good old days when it was just ghost wolves.” 

Keith snorts. He already has his own gear back out. “We need to go downstairs, Lance.” 

Lance tilts his head back. Closes his eyes. 

“Seriously,” Keith says. 

The tornado siren wails ever louder. 

The rain has stopped again. It’s eerily calm. 

It is not good. 

“Lance,” 

“I know,” Lance says, swallowing. “I know. I’m just, _preparing._ ” 

“Prepare later,” Keith says, pulling him towards the kitchen. Towards the stairs. 

*

_Just a normal basement in a normal house,_ Lance tells himself, mocking, as he trudges down the stairs clinging to Keith’s back. 

Yeah fucking right. 

As soon as they reach the concrete floor, the door at the top of the stairs creaks shut. It latches. 

“That door thing is getting old,” Lance shouts, still with one hand caught in Keith’s jacket. He’s not letting go anytime soon. “Don’t you have any other tricks?!” 

There’s a distinct _scriiiiiiitching_ noise— like nails scraping against the wall as if a person is scratching it as they walk. 

And then nothing. 

“Why were you so quiet before?” Keith asks, holding out his recording device. He looks positively thrilled. “Why did you record us?” 

“Keith!” Lance hisses. 

“What?” 

“Don’t! Don’t talk to it!” Lance throws his arms up in the air. “What do you mean ‘what’?! Stop it!” 

Keith looks genuinely confused. “What else would I do?” He frowns. “And didn’t you just tell it that closing the door was a bad trick?” 

“That was different,” Lance argues. 

“It seems the same to me,” Keith says. 

“I’m ignoring you,” Lance decides. “I’m ignoring you,” he reiterates, pointing at Keith. “And I’m definitely, definitely ignoring you,” he shouts, waving an arm towards the door at the top of the stairs. 

Somewhere in the opposite corner of the room, there’s a clatter. Lance jumps and then gives that direction a nasty look. “I said, shh!” 

He sits down in the middle of the floor, one arm hooked around Keith’s leg. “I’m just going to sit here in this totally _great_ basement and wait for the tornado to blow away my car and ruin my life,” Lance takes a breath, “And then I guess I’ll _walk_ back to the apartment,” 

Keith bends over and looks at him, 

“And I’m definitely not talking to any more ghosts tonight, thank you very much.” 

“I’m sure the warning is just a precaution, Lance,” Keith says softly. He extricates his leg from Lance’s vice grip. “The car will be fine.” 

“Hmph.” Lance disagrees. He feels Keith run a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Keith continues. “And if you really want, we can probably leave soon. It looks like the storm is passing over us really quickly and going the opposite direction.” 

Cool fingers brush hair off of Lance’s forehead. Tuck a bit behind his ears. It feels nice. They stop, but the weight of the hand remains. “Mm.” Lance leans into the touch. “You can keep doing that.” 

“Keep doing what?” 

Lance’s eyes fly open. Keith has both of his hands on his phone. “See?” he says, blinking owlishly as he shows Lance the weather report. 

“Ah! Fuck!” Lance’s arms windmill around as he jumps to his feet. “What the fuck?!” 

The touch is no longer kind as strong fingers creep down either side of Lance’s neck. As if the thumbs are at the base of his skull, the fingers curling around his neck. Pressing over his windpipe. As though someone is choking him from behind. 

He’s yanked backwards. 

So hard it knocks the wind out of him. 

“Ke-” Lance claws at his neck, but there is nothing there. But he can feel it, can feel them tighten… 

His feet lift off the ground, 

He can’t breathe, 

“Lance!!” Keith understands now, he must be able to tell by the Lance is flailing. “Lance!” He rushes forward, as if ready to tackle— but there’s no one there to charge. He ends up slamming into Lance, wrapping his arms around him with enough force that they both fling to the ground. 

“Oof!” Lance groans. He’s definitely going to feel that later on. 

“Are you alright?” Keith asks him, hands on either side of Lance’s face. He trails worried fingers over Lance’s cheeks, down his neck. He has his phone in his hand, using the flashlight to see. His hands are trembling. “Shit, sweetheart, there’s bruises.” 

Lance follows the motion with his own hand, rubbing his jaw, his throat. He hacks out a cough and Keith looks murderous. 

“I’m okay, babe,” Lance wheezes. “Don’t kill anybody.” 

Keith collapses over him, holding Lance tight, his face pressed into Lance’s shoulder. He says something but it’s mumbled. 

“Not that you could kill them, because they’re already dead.” Lance adds. He rubs Keith’s back aggressively, like, _I’m alright, we’re alright._ “Unless you have some kind of ghost knife that you’ve been holding out on me.” 

Keith mumbles something else and it seems significantly more rude than the first mumble. Lance pinches his ass. 

In the far corner, there’s a knock. A single rap like knuckles against the wall. Unmistakable. Lance sits up on his elbows. Keith turns and glares. 

“Leave us alone!” he says. “Get out of here! Now!” 

“Leave us alone, he says,” Lance sighs, sprawling out on the floor. “Why couldn’t he say that everytime!” 

The door at the top of the stairs unlatches. A small sliver of light cuts through the room. 

Overhead, there’s footsteps: like heavy boots walking from one side of the house to the other. The two of them listen, wide-eyed, as someone who cannot be there walks away. 

And then it’s quiet. 

“Keith,” Lance says, hushed. 

“Huh?” 

“I think…” Lance looks at him, wide-eyed. “I think you just scared the ghost…” 

Keith blinks. Processes. “Heh.” 

Lance huffs out a laugh. “As expected of my Keith.” 

Keith presses a kiss right over his mouth. “Damn right.” He stands and helps Lance up, basically picking him up off the floor. He looks stupid proud of himself, his chest is practically puffed up. 

What a dork. Lance couldn’t love him any more than he already does. 

Except for, Keith tangles their fingers together and looks up at him, sweet and quiet. “Ready to head home?” And Lance falls just a little bit deeper. He’s hopeless for this boy. 

The rain is coming down again but the worst of the storm has passed. 

Keith locks the key in the padlock the way it was when they found it. 

Lance looks over to see a pair of eyes blink at him from the bedroom window. He gives them the middle finger. They disappear, but not before Lance has the very distinct premonition that Kathy Lutz is never going to sell this house. 

*

“How are you feeling?” Keith asks him, for possibly the millionth time as they get out of the car. They’ve arrived home and it’s so late that it’s morning. Lance just wants to go to bed. 

“If you ask me again I’m going to scream,” Lance tells him, very serious. 

Keith unlocks the front door and pushes it open with his shoulder. His hands are full of their camera gear. (He wouldn’t let Lance carry anything.) 

“Is that good or bad?” Keith asks. 

“Auuuugh!!!” Lance scrubs his hands through his hair and thinks about how good it is to be back in their (not at all haunted) apartment. 

“Lance?” Keith follows him to the bedroom. “Do you want— oh. Um.” 

Lance has kicked off his high tops and shimmied out of his jeans. His sweatshirt is already halfway across the room. “My savior!” he sighs, letting himself swoon onto their bed. “Keith, my daring prince! You saved me! Claim your prize!” 

Keith has a hand on his face. “You are so…” 

“Seductive?” Lance asks. “Bewitching? Captivating?” He lifts one leg in the air, pointing his toes. “Arousing?” 

“Bizarre,” Keith settles on. But he’s such a liar because Lance knows a turned-on Keith when he sees one. And right now? Keith is trying to get out of his jeans and shrug off his jacket at the same time, mouth set in a determined line. He’s absolutely horny. 

“Babe,” Lance says, tangling his hands in Keith’s hair. Keith hasn’t been successful in removing his pants, but he’s already kissing up Lance’s chest. Lance wraps a leg around his waist and Keith squeezes his ass. 

Keith makes his way up to Lance’s jaw, kissing light and tender over the bruises around Lance’s neck. 

Lance sighs, smiling as Keith catches his mouth in a proper kiss. He lets his hands trail down Keith’s chest, fingers soft over the hair on his tummy, slipping into Keith’s boxers. Keith inhales against his mouth. 

“Fast and dirty,” Lance decides, giving Keith’s half hard cock an encouraging squeeze. That’s what he wants. Afterall, it’s been a hell of a day. “Yeah, Keith?” 

Keith groans against his neck. His hands are solid at Lance’s hips, tickling as his thumbs rub circles into Lance’s skin before pulling off his boxers. He sits back, between Lance’s legs. His hair is an absolute mess, sticking up over his head in strange peaks, thanks to Lance’s hands in it. 

Lance rolls his eyes when Keith presses a kiss against his thigh instead of answering. Keith sticks his hand out— “Use your words, babe,” — and Lance plunks a bottle of lube into it without being asked properly. 

And then Keith’s mouth is teasing, gentle nips over Lance’s inner thighs, the back of his legs. He lets himself be greedy, and vulgar, telling Keith exactly what he wants. 

Keith swallows him down like he was made to have Lance’s cock in his mouth. 

“Fuck, babe,” Lance says, grabbing a pillow so he can prop his head up and watch. “You look so good like that, taking me so pretty.” 

He really is pretty. Dark lashes around his eyes, pink lips glossy with drool as they wrap around Lance’s cock. Keith’s hair has fallen in his face so Lance brushes it aside, enjoying the way Keith’s brows are pulled in determination. Enjoying the heat and the slide of that pretty mouth. 

Lance gets significantly less coherent soon, though, when Keith’s fingers push past his rim. Keith pulls off, smirk on his mouth as Lance arches off the bed— Keith knows how to get him worked up fast. He knows exactly what Lance wants. By now, both of them know each other’s bodies like they know their own. Keith mouths over his balls, curling his fingers inside Lance. Smiling and kissing Lance’s belly when Lance swears. 

“Fast, Keith,” Lance swears again, making a lazy effort to get Keith to stop fingering his ass and start fucking him properly. “Isn’t-hnn--isn’t that what I said?” 

“When did I agree?” Keith challenges, nipping at Lance’s inner thigh. But he does pull his fingers out, single-minded as he wraps them around his own cock, slicking himself with lube. 

Lance never gets the chance to retaliate: Keith presses into him without any more warning. But. He goes slow, fingers curling deep pressure into Lance’s thighs as he pushes in, agonizingly slow, inch by inch until he bottoms out. 

“Lance,” Keith bites down on his name, rough the way he lets it slip from his mouth, careful in how he’s holding Lance. 

“Feels good, babe?” Lance asks. He lifts his hips, devastatingly stretched and full. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Feels good for me, Keith. So good.” 

Keith finds his hand, Lance’s left hand, squeezes it. His face is close enough as he settles over Lance’s body to kiss, so Lance does. Soft over Keith’s mouth, his jaw, kissing him, 

Lance’s mouth drops open as Keith begins to move, slow and languorous, like he intends to fuck Lance all night. He’s hot breath over Lance’s face, long, devastating thrusts, solid weight on top of him. He has Lance’s fingers caught in his own, holding them so tight that the engagement ring cuts into his skin. Lance doesn’t mind. 

Their bodies pressed close, Lance runs his other hand up Keith’s back, holding him as Keith continues his maddening pace. Keith’s eyes are on his, dark and deep. He doesn’t say anything, but his gaze is heavy lidded and his mouth is parted just so. He touches Lance and it feels like reverence. There’s just the sound of his breath, and the slick sound of their fucking, and the slight drag of the sheets on the bed. Lance’s eyes fall shut. Keith is so much; what they have overwhelms him. “Love you, Keith,” he sighs, achingly hard and so, so full, 

Keith shudders over top of him, 

“Lan-ce,” he murmurs, breaking the name as his voice breaks. His thrusts become more erratic; he drops Lance’s hand to lift his hips from bed, faster now, 

Lance bites his lips, his cock bouncing untouched between his legs, leaking pre over his stomach, down his hips. He’s close, so close. “Ah, Keith, fuck, Ke—”

With a groan, Keith slams in, burying his cock to the hilt, sighing Lance’s name as he comes, dropping on top of him, 

The friction between their bodies is enough to push Lance over the edge. He comes as well, arching beneath Keith’s weight. 

And. It wasn’t exactly fast and dirty, but. 

Lance isn’t complaining. 

Keith slips out of him as Lance moves to rearrange himself on the bed, but he doesn’t drop his arms from around Lance. He has Lance tight against his chest, breathing deep against his skin. 

Lance pinches his nipple. 

“Ow!” Keith smacks his hand. Lifting his head. He rubs his chest. “What was that for? Lance?” 

“The fucking nanobots, Keith,” Lance reminds him. 

Keith sits up enough to look into Lance’s face. He’s confused for a moment, but then Lance sees the exact moment that confusion morphs into trying not to laugh. Lance squints at him. 

Keith loses that battle. He cracks up, shoulders shaking as he tackles Lance and smothers him into their bed. “You shoulda seen your face,” he gasps, squeezing him and tangling their legs together. “Lance,” 

Lance shakes his head. He wets his lips, then ducks down to blow a raspberry against Keith’s chest. 

“Ah!” Keith isn’t extremely ticklish, but he squirms, doing his best to escape. “Lance! I give!” 

“No you don’t!” Lance says, sitting up. “Keith! Nanobots today, who the fuck knows what tomorrow!” 

“Mmm, true,” Keith agrees, like he isn’t to blame for everything. 

Lance sighs. Of course he only loves him more. How could he not? 

*

Six months later: 

The linoleum floor is speckled beige and brown. There’s chairs piled up in the corner of the room. The cellulose ceiling tiles overhead are low enough that the water stains on them are distinct shapes rather than random blurs. Somewhere, off in the distance, he can hear a kid running through the hall. 

He’s alone. 

Lance shifts, moving to sit on a fold out table. Normally he’d get on his phone, but, no, not right now. His hands are shaking too badly anyways. 

He swings his legs, shoes brightly shined. Bites his lip. Swallows. Well. This is it. He feels simultaneously very young and far too old. In over his head, but also, more sure than he’s ever been. 

In the far corner of the room, something shifts. 

Lance stops. 

What. 

Was that? 

He finds himself holding his breath. “Fuck,” he says, under his breath. His nerves are getting the best of him. There’s nothing down here. There’s no one down here but him. His hair is styled so he resists the urge to run his fingers through it. Everything is fine. 

Everything is not fine. 

Without warning, a hymnal goes flying across the room. Lance screams. It almost hit him! 

“Fuck me, what the fuck was that,” Lance yelps. 

That’s it, he’s out of here. He hops down from the table, heads to the door and runs directly into—

“Keith?” 

“Keith, what are you doing down here?” Lance demands to know. 

Keith smiles at him, shy. “Lance, hey.” He gives Lance a once over, clearly appreciating the way the suit’s been tailored to fit Lance’s long legs and slim waist. 

Lance undoes the button of his tux jacket, just to flaunt. The blue of his vest matches the exact shade of his eyes. He looks phenom. (If he does say so himself.) He does a little pirouette. You know, just to be sure Keith really gets it. 

“Like what you see?” Lance flirts, tugging on Keith’s lapels. Fuck he looks good. A tux never looked so good on anyone as it does on Keith Kogane. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. He moves forward to catch Lance’s mouth in a kiss. 

“Wait.” Lance says, suspiciously eyeing the direction the hymnal came from. “Keith, something weird just happened.” 

“What?” Keith asks, eyes going wide. “What is it Lance?” 

Lance explains about the hymnal and the rustling. He’s so caught up in the explanation that he doesn’t hardly notice that Keith is biting his lip. 

“Keith.” 

Keith blinks, clearly making an effort to keep his face neutral. “Wow Lance.” He scoots away, conveniently out of Lance’s reach. “Sounds...spooky.” 

Lance narrows his eyes. “Keith…” 

“Maybe this place is haunted…” Keith says, clearly trying not to smile. 

“Or maybe,” Lance says, ready to tackle him, “Maybe my husband is hiding in a corner of a basement and throwing books at me on our wedding day!!” 

Keith bursts into a laugh, falling into Lance’s chest. “Your face!” he says. 

Lance giggles, and then snorts, hiding his face in Keith’s hair. “Why?” he asks. 

Keith presses a kiss into his mouth, still smiling. “Because you’re cute all the time, but you’re _really_ cute when you’re scared.” 

Lance rolls his eyes. He already knows that. “No, Keith. I mean, why did you come down here?” He fusses over Keith’s suit, getting the boutonniere laying the right way again on his chest. Lance lowers his voice to a whisper: “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony, dude,” 

Keith shrugs. “I know.” He grins, finding Lance’s hand. He lifts it to his mouth to kiss Lance’s knuckles. “But one time, this really hot guy told me not to split up.” 

“Oh yeah? Sounds like good advice.” 

Keith nods. “You ready to do this?” 

Lance is. Actually, he’s never been less afraid. 

  
  


***

**Author's Note:**

> That’s right, in this one, we tackle the true millennial fantasy: home ownership 
> 
> klance friends, I missed youuuuuuuu 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope I havent lost my edge. It’s been more than a year since I wrote the ghost hunting boys and tbh I kept second guessing myself! Augh! Regardless, if you read this fic, if you read any of the other fics in this series, if you left me a comment or a kudos on them, if you retweeted one of them: thank you. Thank you. Thank you! ! The ghost hunting klance has meant so much to me over the past few years. It’s not an exaggeration to say that if it wasnt for IYTHM, I probably would not still be writing fanfiction. So. this au means a lot to me. More than I can say. I hope that the ending didnt let you down. 
> 
> I also hope very much that you will be excited to hear that I have a new klance au in the works. I’m really excited about it! Keep your eyes peeled for that in the new year. (I also will be posting something short and sweet for a klance secret santa event). Find my twitter [ here ](https://twitter.com/jacqulinetan) for plentiful keith retweets and sporadic updates about what I’m working on 
> 
> As for Lance and Keith, ghost hunters, well…
> 
> Consider this series, officially, 
> 
> laid to rest


End file.
